


selfish

by burymeinblack



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, MCR, My Chemical Romance References, My First Fanfic, Not Beta Read, Rikey, ray just really loves mikey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeinblack/pseuds/burymeinblack
Summary: ray's not selfish in the slightest bit, but that doesn't mean he can't be.
Relationships: Ray Toro/Mikey Way
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	selfish

Ray Toro wasn’t selfish.

He was a man far from that, and any person to ever meet him would happily back the statement up. Ray Toro was the man who would give up his seat on public buses just to spare someone a grumpy mood. He was the kind of man who paid for the items belonging to the people in back of him in Drive-Thrus just because he felt bad for needing a late night coffee. He was your stereotypical, kind, white-knight type of man because— well, he was _Ray_. Ray knew how to take care of himself, but he much preferred it the other way around, pouring his time and efforts into those he loved or complete strangers. It was gratifying, in a way.

Yet there was one self indulgence he couldn’t stay away from, not even if he tried.

Because when Ray was slowly brought into the real world, pale morning light spilling over his bedsheets, the first thing he noticed was the mound of sheets next to him. Bleary eyed, Ray smiled, and he shifted closer, feeling the smooth slide of bare legs on his sweatpants and the mound shift. Gangly arms slid around his midsection and Ray heard the faintest grumble follow, and the man made a content sound, something he hadn’t known he held in his throat until then. What made Ray feel even more euphoric was the fact that this wasn’t some rare Saturday morning occurrence. This was _every day_ . Or, at least for now, until tour started back up and he’d be on the road again, the only light waking him up being Frank jamming his bunk light on demanding Ray give him his spare pair of headphones, all because _“Gerard’s snoring is so fucking annoying, how do you even sleep through it—”_

Ray prided himself on being the only true heavy sleeper in their band of four, both a blessing and a curse, given the incidents throughout the year. He liked to laugh at them from time to time, but only during times like now, when they snuck up on him and his lips couldn’t help but twitch up at the corners. Yet not even fond tour memories right then could make him want to give this up, not his lazy-morning glory, and how he was gently, and unknowingly, coaxing his boyfriend out of his sleepy stupor. These moments were the most precious to him, when his own head was still fuzzed up but he gathered up the capacity to let his hands wander and tuck his chin where Mikey’s head was.

_Mikey_.

Mikey was Ray’s favorite thing, his favorite person, arguably in the entire world. Though the attraction and attachment was by no means new, Ray’s heart fluttered whenever he thought of the bassist. Of how lucky he was that he had a boyfriend and a best friend, rolled into one person who probably didn’t quite love starting his day before eleven half as much as Ray did. Ray couldn’t help it though. Despite having so many images of Mikey in the morning, with his canines poking into his own bottom lip, his tired eyes and the little splash of brown in them, how he made _bedhead_ so incredibly endearing— Ray would never take it over the real thing. Over and over and over.

_“Baby.”_

Ray hummed, feeling his own voice rattle his chest, and hearing Mikey trill back, the younger’s slim fingers curling against Ray’s bare torso. Still, though, Mikey refused to move an inch, _just like always_. Ray’s hands slipped up Mikey’s shirt, the familiar fabric that brushed against his knuckles dusting his cheeks pink. Mikey loved that stupid Metallica shirt, holed up at the shoulders and soft from all the washes and wears. Ray still remembered when that shirt went from his to Mikey’s, and how he pretended he would give it back, when Ray knew he wouldn’t and wouldn’t ask him to anyways.

Mikey leaned into his touch, arching much like how a cat would, Ray laughing. Mikey probably wouldn’t say anything for a little while longer, but that didn’t mean Ray would stop doting all over him. He knew better, because then Mikey would either fall back asleep, or chew Ray out for waking him up too early.

Either outcome was more than fine with Ray.

“C’mon… up?”

Ray asked, sweetly. He’d consider Mikey showing his face a victory, and maybe then, would be when he’d let Mikey nap the rest of the morning off. 

Mikey shook his head, Ray groaning, shaking his boyfriend ever so gently.

He certainly didn’t appreciate that though, and Mikey kicked his leg, whining loud to finally make Ray stop. Ray sighed, and went a little limp, drumming his fingers against the outline of Mikey’s ribs. “Fine, you win,” Ray caved, kissing Mikey’s head through the sheets. “I’m gonna go get some coffee.”

Mikey’s quiet sound was the only indicator that he had paid any attention to Ray’s words.

Ray removed his arms from under Mikey’s shirt, and took the time to untangle their legs, sliding towards his side of the bed and throwing them over the edge. Mikey seemed to roll over, into his little Mikey-shaped dip in the bed, cooing happily. As much as Ray wanted to share his morning with him right at that moment, he smiled. That was Mikey. _His_ Mikey.

As much as the world focused their prying eyes on him and his bandmates, only he would get the satisfaction of knowing Mikey better than them all. When Ray started to make his trek to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he puffed his chest up a bit, proud of the sudden realization.

The people and press didn’t know that the quiet bassist was a total cuddler, now did they?

Or that he liked indulging in crappy murder-mystery movies that aired on the TV channels, clearly made for horny middle-aged mothers.

Or how good he looked after hours of Ray taking him apart, over and over, skin slick with sweat and his cheeks rosy, tangled up in _their_ bed—

(Another indulgence of Ray’s, something that earned him a wink at himself in the mirror whilst brushing his teeth.)

Ray was the happiest he had been in a long while, if he was being completely honest with himself. Ray had always seen himself as that guy, the one with all the big dreams but the quiet hope of settling down with someone one day. It was a white picket fence kind of dream, with running children and barking dogs and nosy suburban neighbors.

It was just this, what he had with Mikey in their little townhouse, nestled somewhere in New Jersey. Neither of them liked the thought of moving away from home, especially not to the celebrity capital, LA, where everyone seemed to want to go now. Ray valued the privacy of Jersey. And the crime and grime was simply home to them, no issues there.

Ray was in their kitchen now, staring at the coffee maker, making it’s angry hissing noises at him. Each day, it seemed to chug out pots of coffee harder, and _god, Mikey was right about needing a new one_. Ray didn’t see those things the way Mikey did. Ray figured if it wasn’t broken, why fix it?

And over all the hissing and crackling and what sounded like rocks tumbling in the little machine, he didn’t hear the stairs creaking, or Mikey’s footsteps on the kitchen floor.

Ray tensed for the quickest second when Mikey wrapped his arms around him from behind, smushing his face against Ray’s back and yawning.

“You’re up?” Ray asked, light and certainly pleased, looking over his shoulder. Mikey’s face still wasn’t in his complete view, just all the dark hair on the top of his head.

Mikey shrugged. “...I can’t say no to coffee,” he mumbled in reply.

“I didn’t offer _you_ any, though,” he joked, “the early bird gets the worm.”

Mikey huffed, tilting his head up and meeting his boyfriend’s gaze. He didn’t have to say anything for Ray to simply smile and turn, pulling Mikey closer. He let a big hand rest between his shoulder blades, and Mikey melted, as simple as that. It was the little things that tamed the small fire that was Mikey Way, Ray had learned. This was just routine now.

The coffee maker beeped, and the hissing died down, Ray making a move to turn and fill their respective mugs. Mikey whined, and tugged Ray back, keeping him from moving. The taller of the two laughed, reaching up and stroking the hair on the nape of Mikey’s neck.

“I thought you wanted your fix, baby,” said Ray, and Mikey shook his head. He needed a few more seconds of this, he always did. And Ray knew when it was safe to let go, Mikey unwrapping himself from him and watching from a few paces back after perching himself on the kitchen island.

Watching Ray like this was Mikey’s own selfish indulgence. Ray was a dream like this, tanned, toned body, sweatpants hung low on his hips. His hair was fixed just a little, but some curls were out of place. Mikey knew the number would only grow when Ray whisked him back upstairs after some coffee and breakfast. He looked forward to that. 

Ray turned, handing Mikey his hot mug of coffee, watching his boyfriend take a not-so-careful sip, along with the shiver that followed. Then the sips turned into needy mouthfuls, and Ray leaned back, drinking his own coffee, the two having soft conversations mostly finished through the way they looked at each other.

The thing that always fascinated Ray about Mikey was how he was nothing like how the world assumed he was.

Because the world didn’t see Mikey just like this, in his boyfriend’s big shirt and a mug of coffee in his hands and his eyes screaming, _“Please carry me back up to bed, drink that fucking coffee faster—”_

He would, Mikey knew he would.

The second Ray had his mug in the sink, Mikey moved closer to the edge of the counter, and Ray grinned at him, shaking his head.

“You’re too much for me sometimes,” he sighed, sliding his hands under Mikey’s thighs, Mikey wrapping himself around him and giggling. _“I love you,” “I love you too.”_

Some things never had to be said between them. Ray knew Mikey like the back of his hand, like all his favorite records, all his guitar solos. Mikey knew him, too.

Ray laid Mikey in their little blanket nest, kicking the sheets over them, Mikey sighing and arching against him. They were their most comfortable here, wrapped up together in bed. Happy.

“You came down ‘cause you missed me, didn’t you?”

His voice was soft, and he didn’t press for any answers, not when he knew in his heart what it was. It didn’t stop Mikey from laughing quietly, tucking his face into his neck.

“Not at all,” Mikey responded, Ray tilting his head and kissing his temple.

Ray knew it wasn’t much, the lazy mornings in bed, the coffee and conversations. But it felt like everything, and in the brief moments of silence, Ray liked to believe Mikey felt that too. Mikey wanted to settle down with him, live his life with him forever. 

Ray couldn’t imagine not having this. Mikey’s spine under his fingertips, the rise and fall of their chests, almost in sync but not quite. Mikey moved to sit up, straddling him completely and grinning down at him. He was bathed in gold from the window, canines poking into his bottom lip, hair messy and eyes _still_ slightly foggy, but focused on him. Ray’s heart fluttered. Mikey was beautiful, in a way he only let Ray see.

And when Mikey would dip down, ready for Ray to sink into him, Ray would lay back and grin to himself, take Mikey apart without even batting an eye. 

He wasn’t selfish.

Not unless it came to Mikey.

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! this is my first fic ever!!! i hope whoever read this enjoyed it! there's not enough rikey to go around, so i suppose i will write what i'd like to see.


End file.
